


somno

by romanoff



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Concussions, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Shmoop, There Is No Purpose To This Story, Tony Bumps His Head
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 10:20:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4016062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanoff/pseuds/romanoff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony hits his head too hard. Steve makes up for it.</p><p>Basically an excuse to have sleepy hurt!Tony comfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	somno

The next thing Tony is remembers is a light shining in his eyes.

"Easy." A doctor is saying "Easy, Mr Stark. You've taken a bad knock -- don't move, don't -- he's bleeding."

Tony blinks. The doctor's face is twisting in and out of his vision, black spots crumbling across his eyes. The man doubles, triples, quadruples, each copy blurring and merging into one. Tony raises his hand, tries to wipe away the spots. He groans.

"Where is he?" Someone gasps, out of breath "Where is he -- Jesus, Tony, fuck are you okay, is he okay? Give him here, give him to me -- " Steve collapses into his knees, pushing dirt into the air "Tony," he breathes "Tony, Tony -- "

"Captain, you need to keep away. Mr Stark, Mr Stark can you focus on me?"

It's loud. Tony winces, tries to back away from the abrasive noise, the jarring light. Fucking hell, did he go on a bender? His head, his fucking head -- there are bright spots of light shining in his vision, cutting, like a sharp noise. He tries to shut it up, although he's vaguely aware that light doesn't make noise. 

"Captain," the Doctor says sharply "leave the suit. His neck might be damaged, you can't -- Captain!"

"Tony," Steve is breathing, nose against nose, cheek against his cheek "are you okay? Answer, sweetie, give me an answer, anything."

Tony blinks, tries to steel himself. Steve, he wants to say, but the sharp noise has turned into ringing in his ears. Steve is doubling in and out of his vision, and he groans again, feeling his eyes roll back into his head. He hears them fiddling with the catches of his armour, dragging it off his body, but he can't really do anything about it. He's aware, distantly, that he's wearing the undersuit and being cradled in Steve arms, head pillowed by his thighs.

The doctor's fingers probe his head. It hurts. Tony moans softly and tries to push him away. Next thing he knows, there's a stretcher. Things get blurry. He's sitting on a bed.

"Tony," Natasha says "Tony. Tony. Tony."

He stares at her, blinking. "What?" He slurs.

She's propping him up with one hand, keeping him sitting on the edge of the bed -- not a bed, more like one of those things you get in doctor's offices, covered in a flimsy sheet of paper. He's wearing a blue hospital gown. It's chilly, and very, very bright.

"You are concussed, do you understand me?"

Tony blinks. "Do you understand me?" He repeats, slowly.

Natasha stares. "No, Tony, no. Do you understand that you are concussed?"

Tony thinks. Concussion. Concussion. Con-cuss-ion. He must have hit his head. He reaches up, pats along his scalp. His hair feels dry and brittle and a few strands come out with his fingers. He stares at them in the palm of his hand. Con-cuss-ion. He blinks, looks at Natasha. Her hair doesn't look as dry as his. He tries to touch it, to see if bits come out too.

Natasha takes his hand away, jerking it sharply to the bed. She sighs, sounding exhausted. "Okay," she says "too soon. Steve'll be here in a minute, okay?"

"I am concussed." He replies, slowly. His thoughts move leadenly, like running through hot toffee. Hot, syrupy toffee. Syrup, then. Golden syrup. He's like golden syrup. Fuck, no, that's not right. What's like golden syrup? He can't remember.

"Yeah you are." Natasha says, smiling wryly. "You took one hell of a bash."

Tony stares at her, uncomprehending. What the hell is she talking about? Tony blinks. "Yes." He says, eventually.

Natasha looks back at him from where she was checking her watch. "'Yes' what?"

Tony frowns. "Yes I -- I am concussed?"

"Okay." Natasha says "That you are."

That you are. That you... are. That you are. Are you that? The words don't make sense. That. You. Are. Is he what? He doesn't even feel himself listing to the side until he hears Natasha curse.

"Shit," she blurts, rushing back to prop him up "fuck, give me a warning."

"M'head hurts." Tony says in reply.

"I bet it does." Natasha says dryly "How are the ears?"

Tony stares. "The ears?"

"You told me your ears were ringing."

Tony doesn't remember that. "Ding dong." He says. Like a doorbell. Do doorbells ring? Maybe they chime? Phones ring, definitely, although his is always on silent. Were his ears ringing? Maybe someone was trying to call him? God, Natasha just doesn't make sense.

"Tony." She snaps, and Tony jerks. "Don't sleep."

Tony realises he's leaned forward. His head is now resting on Natasha's shoulder. It feels heavy, like he can't support it on his shoulders, so Natasha has to push him back up to sitting. She sighs. "I hope you're okay." She says.

Tony blinks at her.

"I hope you're okay." She says again "You won't remember this, will you? Fine. But anyway. I hope you're not too scrambled."

"Eggs." Tony says, coherently.

"I -- yeah." Natasha sighs, defeated. "Like eggs, Tony, just like scrambled eggs."

Syrup. Where did that come from? Scrambled eggs and syrup. There's a word for it. There's a word, there's a word...

"Breakfast!" Tony announces, and he hears a clatter. He blinks, searching for Natasha. "Where'd she go?"

"Where did who go, Mr Stark?" The nurse says.

Tony is still sitting on the edge of the bed, and he's still wearing the smock, but there's a drip in his arm. "Why is there a drip in my arm?"

The nurse sighs. "You were just a little dehydrated Mr Stark, and it's the last thing you need with a head injury like yours."

"I hit my head?"

"You did. You have a concussion."

"Oh." Tony says. He stares at his arm. Why is there a drip in his arm? Fuck, did he hurt himself? Where's Steve? It's cold, in here.

"Can we turn up the heat?" Tony asks. The nurse looks up at him, frowning.

"What?"

"The heat. Can we turn it up."

The nurse's fingers are running along his scalp. Maybe she didn't hear him? Tony opens his mouth to say it again. "Can we turn it up?"

"Turn what up?" The nurse says, patiently.

Tony blinks. He can't remember. He hisses as the nurses fingers bump along his head, find the point where the pain is radiating from. Tony tries to throw her off, raising his hands to protect his scalp.

The sharp movement sends him reeling, the whole world spinning. It's like, it's like vertigo, or when you hand upside down and get up too fast. He's twirling around and it's making him sick.

Sick enough that he throws up down his blue blue gown. His nose wrinkles. He tries to wipe at his mouth, but he tugs the place where the IV is stuck in his arm. "I was sick." He says, to no one. The nurse is gone.

He feels himself listing to the side and he pushes out his hand to support himself. Shoddy service, he thinks. Who leaves their concussed patient alone in a -- in a --

It's not even a hospital. It's one of those mobile doctor's vehicles. No wonder everyone's all over the place. Was there a battle? Is the battle still going on? He can't hear anything. Maybe Steve should be here by now. Maybe --

"Aww, shit." He hears someone mutter. "Steve! He's in this one! Yeah, he's -- " Clint sighs "how you doing buddy?"

Tony blinks at him, slowly.

"That's what I thought. Steve! Steve it's number four -- "

"Tony," Steve says, bursting through the door "Tony, honey, I'm here. I'm here now."

Yes. Tony, Tony can see that.

"He's thrown up." Clint says, and Tony hears the smack of a metal bin opening and closing. "Clean him up."

"He's dribbling," Steve says, running a wipe over Tony's chin "is that normal?"

"Steve, the way he hit the ground, he's lucky to be alive. Yes, dribbling is normal."

Tony's brain seems to process this, and then all at once push him up to speed. "I am concussed." He announces.

Steve looks up. "Hey," he says softly "hey, yeah. You are."

"I," Tony frowns "I hit my head."

Steve exhales. "'Hit' is putting it lightly." He scoffs. "You rammed into the pavement from an 30,000ft drop."

"Where's'a bump?"

"What?"

"Where's tha'," Tony raises his hand, runs it over his scalp "where's it?"

"Here." Steve says softly, fingers gently pressing against a wound at the front of Tony's head. "It's bad. They have you on painkillers, right? Christ, I'm going to kill them, where'd the nurse go?"

"Steve, she's got other people to deal with." Natasha says, suddenly, and Tony doesn't remember her joining the conversation. "We're stretched thin as it is. They're flying in more aid but for now -- "

"Shit," Steve blurts "shit his nose is bleeding."

The room goes quiet. Tony looks up at Steve, blinks. He dabs his fingers at the blood on his upper lip. "Whoops." He says.

"Get him to a hospital." Natasha says, suddenly. "Get him up, c'mon, let's go."

Tony feels the whole world spin again as Steve tugs him to his feet. They don't work, he feels himself stumbling, and the room lists to the side. "I'm gonna be sick." He says again.

"Hold it in." Steve orders, swooping down to catch his knees in his arms, picking him up. Steve is running, and Tony groans, his pressing his head against his chest to try and keep it still. Everything is so fucking blurry, he doesn't remember the quinjet taking off but he's aware that he's in Steve's arms. Maybe he blacks out. He must black out. Or maybe he just sleeps. Either way, when he awakes, he's not in a hospital.

Tony blinks up at the greyish ceiling above him. Not a ceiling -- wait, no. Where is he? He raises his hands, slaps them against the sides of the -- coffin? Is he dead? God, no, please don't let him be dead. Please don't let them have buried him alive, he doesn't know how to get out of a -- 

"Tony," Steve says, voice too loud in his ears "Tony, relax. We're just scanning you, okay? Do you understand?"

"I!" Tony shouts "Am! Concussed!"

Steve chuckles over the intercom. "We know, Tony, we've gathered that. Just a few more minutes, okay? Can you do that for me?"

Tony sighs. He closes his eyes. "I'm concussed." He mumbles as he starts to slide out of the machine. "I am concussed."

"Yes, you are." A doctor says, helping lever him into a sitting position. The lights in here are definitely too bright. Tony winces, tries to shield his eyes with his arm. The blue robe has gone and now he's wearing one of those horrific white hospital smocks that tie up at the back. "How was that, Mr Stark. Not too traumatic I hope?"

"I, I hit my head."

"Yes you did." The doctor says kindly. "Can you put your feet in the slippers? That's it. Captain, you can come in now."

Steve's stripped down to his undershirt, holding his combat pants up with his hands, belt gone. No metal allowed, Tony thinks.

"I hit my head." Tony says "I, I hit it and now I'm concussed."

"We've established that, Tones. Doctor's did a scan, there's no bleeding. You probably just whacked your nose a little in the fall."

"What fall?"

"When you fell from the sky."

Tony giggles. "Did it hurt when I fell down from heaven?"

Steve sighs. "He'll be fine." He says to the doctor "We have experience we this sort of thing."

"We can keep him overnight for observation?"

"Honestly," Steve says, looking down at him. "I think we'll be okay."

Steve has to lever Tony into a wheelchair and settle him down, wrapped in a fluffy robe Clint had probably picked up from the quinjet supplies. "Where are we going?" He asks.

"Home." Steve says, succinctly, pushing him down the corridors.

Tony's head lolls to the side. "Choo choo." He says quietly.

"What?"

"It's like I'm a train."

"Okay, Tony."

He thinks he might be really, really high right now. He can't tell if it's the head injury or the drugs but he's caught in a soft blur, the people around him talking and moving and him not really noticing any of it. He lifts his hand to probe at the wound on his head. "Ouch." He says.

"No touching."

"I am concussed."

"We know, sweetie."

"Where are we going?"

"Home." Steve says again "We're going to the quinjet, and then we're flying home."

"I'll try not to crash this time."

"Uh, no. You won't be flying."

Tony feels severely put-out. "But I always fly." He says as Steve pushes him into the elevator.

"Sure," Steve says easily, pushing the button to the top floor "but not today. You're concussed, you know."

"Are we going up?"

"Huh?"

"In the lift. Are we going up?"

"Yes, honey. We're going up. Having fun?"

"No. I'm concussed, Steve."

Steve snorts, doors opening up to the sky. "You might want to close your eyes for this." He says "It's gonna be bright."

Tony dutifully shuts his eyes tight, letting Steve wheel him out to where a nurse it waiting to collect the chair. The wind is blowing her hair in her face. "Captain," she says "do you need help loading him on board?"

"We're fine." He smiles, taking Tony's shoulders. "C'mon," he says "up you go."

"It's cold." 

"It'll be warmer inside."

Tony halts, looking back. "Thank you." He nods at the nurse.

She smiles. "You're very welcome, Mr Stark."

"C'mon," Steve chides "up, get in." He turns back to the woman "Thanks." He says again, and follows Tony inside.

Tony stumbles, going for the pilot's seat. Clint catches him, gently easing him back "Ah ah ah," he says "no, not you. You're sitting here today."

Tony's face scrunches. "Clint," he says "Steve! I am, I am the pilot."

"No," Clint says "you are concussed. Stop moving so much, Christ, how much stuff have they doped you up on?"

"Nothing major," Steve says "at least he's not a drooling. Here, Tony, sit here."

Tony lets Steve fold him into the chair, carefully buckling him in. "My head is killing me." Tony mumbles.

"Maybe some more painkillers." Steve says "When we get home."

"Is my face weird?"

"What?"

"Does my face look weird? It feels weird."

"Your face looks fine, Tony."

Tony seems to accept this. "My head is really, really killing."

"Close your eyes. It'll help."

Tony does this, but his face scrunches as they take off. "I'm going to throw up." He manages.

"Try not to."

"Steve, I -- " Tony visibly swallows "I'm really gonna -- "

Steve manages to push Tony's head between his knees just as he vomits. Nothing really comes up; it's just his stomach reacting to the vertigo as he gags onto the floor. The sudden movement probably doesn't help, though. When Steve tips Tony back, his eyes roll into his head and he groans.

"Look's like Iron Man's going to be out of commission of awhile." Clint says.

"He'll be fine." Steve sighs. "All he needs is a few days rest."

Five minutes later, Tony blinks. "I'm not out of commission." He says, looking up.

Steve stares. "What?"

"Nothing."

Steve strips off his jacket and wraps it around Tony's shoulders. "You still feeling chilly?"

Tony shrugs, letting his head rest against the leather. He snuggles slightly, bringing his feet up onto the seat. 

"You're allowed to sleep, you know." Steve says. "I'll just wake you up to check on you."

Tony does feel tired. Very, very tired. Tired enough that it's a struggle to keep his eyes open. "Okay." He murmurs.

"Tony?" Steve says "What's okay?"

Shit. Must have lost time again. "Sleep."

"Sleep is very okay." Steve murmurs. "C'mon. Shut your eyes. We'll be home before you know it."

Tony is actually distantly aware when they come in to land, but he feels like he's wrapped in cotton wool. Too warm, too comfy, to move. Even if he could, he doesn't want to. Steve gently unclips his belt and lifts him into his strong arms. The world tilts as they walk down the ramp onto the asphalt and then down the stairs to the sky entrance.

"How is he?" Natasha asks.

"Shh," Steve says quietly "keep it down. He's asleep."

"You taking him to the bedroom?"

"We need to debrief. I thought I could put him on the couch and we could talk by the bar." Steve adjusts his grip slightly and Tony rolls his head into the warmth of his chest.

"He took a nasty hit." Natasha says.

"Tell me about it." Steve mutters. "Those bandages are going to need changing."

"Head wounds always look worse that they really are."

"I hope so. This is his fourth concussion this year."

Tony feels Steve sit and -- warm, he's very warm in Steve's arms. He whines slightly when Steve lays him on the couch, the soft leather cold. At least it's squashy. Squashy is good. Squashy feels great.

He rolls onto his back, and someone covers him with a blanket. Sometime after, he falls asleep to murmured voices.

 

Steve's hand rests on his leg. He knows this because... because it's a fact. His eyes slide open; the world is blurry. Not worryingly so, just fuzzy around the edges. It's soothing.

And Steve's hand is on his leg. The couch -- couch? -- shifts, and Tony is boneless as Steve carefully lifts his head, lays it down against his lap. Another pillow, some more blankets. Tony is warm and --

He loses the thought. Talking, murmurs, he can't catch words, not quite, but they sound soft. Everything is soft. The light, Steve's hand as it brushes against his temple. The pillow is scratchy against his cheek, but it doesn't irritate. It's a point of contact, something rough amongst the hazy softness and --

Oh. Someone is singing. Tony is very, very tired. He's had a bad day. And now, someone is drawing their fingers through his hair. Their nails scrape gently over his scalp. It eases the nausea, and the pain. He starts to float.

And his mouth goes lax; head so heavy it feels like it's being pulled into the thick pillow supporting it, neck aching, eyes shut. Deep, deep breaths, in, and out. He feels two delicate fingers, cold, pressing against the pulse of his neck. That same hand rests gently on his brow, as if checking for a temperature. A pleased murmur; Tony feels himself sink deeper.

"Tony," Steve says "how's the pain? Do you need anything?"

"Don't." Natasha says "Don't wake him up. He needs the rest."

"I don't think -- " Steve's voice is unsure "I don't think he's sleeping."

Tony snuffles slightly in acknowledgement; his breath catches in his throat and it comes out like a snort. He can hear Steve's soft smile, and his thumb takes up it's position brushing over Tony's temple. "Maybe something for a headache." Steve murmurs "Something to cool him down."

Which sounds perfect, really. Tony fades out, drifting like a stone across a sea of cotton. He's jarred -- not massively -- by the wet drag of something soft across his brow. Cold, too. Soothing. He feels his breathing deepen.

Every part of him aches, though. He assumes the painkillers should have taken care of it, but in his loose state it occurs to him that it runs deeper. Months of never sitting still. Years of strained muscles and holding yourself so tight your joints go from bone to stone to iron. He's creaking, like rusty metal. He needs more, more, more softness. More gentle touches. Blunt nails, scraping over his scalp, easing the ache for touch alone.

And he needs Steve. Steve's warmth, now, his smell; coffee and vanilla and something else. Something Tony can't place. Something Steve-like. He needs all this and more. He needs to drift. He needs to sleep.

The cloth is laid to rest over his brow. Tony feels a trickle of water tickle his temple as it rolls, staining the pillow below.

His lungs ache when he breathes, but it's good. Deep, and sturdy, it means he's alive. Matched with the heavy bass that Tony feels beating through his chest, his neck, down to the tips of his fingers and toes, it feels steady. Strong. The pillow beneath his cheek is a rough tether to the real world, and Steve's hand in his hair makes him float. Anchored, secure, and the aches begin to ease, bone deep and long suffering. 

Tony's already thready thoughts begin to loosen; he's sleeps.

**Author's Note:**

> exams are nearly over. just gotta. keep pushing.
> 
> anyway, i hope you enjoyed this, despite it having zero plot. originally i was going to have tony suffer from catastrophic brain damage but then it was like. shh. no. just. relax. just let tony enjoy himself for once.
> 
> so any comment you have would be loved!! just anything to get me going to the end of the week!!
> 
> i'm feeling really sleepy now though fuck


End file.
